Unexpected
by Captain James
Summary: No date can go smoothly when you have Filch trying to be sweet and Madam Pince suffering from allergies. Ever wondered what is really going on between Filch and the librarian? [Oneshot, FilchXPince]


**Title:** Unexpected (or, The Adventures of the Knight of Wildsecks and his Lady's Angry Red Boil)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** No date can go smoothly when you have Filch trying to be sweet and Madam Pince suffering from allergies. (One-shot.)  
**Pairing:** Filch/Pince  
**Warning:** Possibly disturbing content.  
**Author's Notes:** For the 'I didn't get to go to TWH' challenge -- Bribitribbit wanted _"Filch/Pince, Filch trying to be sweet and failing, not too smutty, but if it is, I'm not complaining."_ Not beta-read.  
**Contains HBP spoilers!**

* * *

Argus' confident stride faded to a hesitant three-forwards-one-backwards pattern as he neared the library. What if she didn't like the flowers? After another step backwards, he concluded all women liked roses. Besides, Professor Sprout had said they were the most beautiful ones she had in her gardens. He tightened his hold on the basket and on the flowers and walked on.

The library was thankfully deserted, as he had expected it to be at that time in the evening. Irma didn't seem to be around, but that was fine with Argus, since he was not entirely sure he was ready yet. Fate would decide.

And Fate decided that Irma Pince would come out from behind some shelves at that very moment, looking a little startled at first, and then very pleased. _Wait_, Argus corrected himself, _displeased_.

"Those flowers are dripping all over the floor!"

Argus stared blankly at her for a few seconds, raking his brain for an appropriate reply. Finding none, he settled for the sentence he had rehearsed all the way up to the library. "They are for you."

Irma's expression softened slowly, finally stretching into a thin smile. Ah, but wasn't she the most beautiful woman on Earth when she smiled!

"Thank you, Argus, they are very pretty."

Not the wide, blinded-by-love smile Professor Sprout had promised, but it was good enough for him. He extended his hand, holding out the flowers for her to take them, and Irma's not-quite-wide-or-blinded-by-love smile faltered.

"Er, thank you."

"They are for you," Argus repeated, and mentally kicked himself for sounding like a thick schoolboy.

Her smile disappeared completely and she took a step back. "Yes, yes, leave them somewhere. Not on a book, please!"

"Wouldyouliketohavedinnerwithmetonight?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They didn't sound as charmingly confident as they had in the privacy of his room, observed only by his mirror self, but at least he hadn't stammered. Much.

It did the trick, however, because she was starting to smile again, almost coyly this time. "It would be a pleasure, Argus."

As if pulled by invisible hands, he sprung forwards, arms outstretched, mouth open in a silent cheer. Too late he noticed Irma's horrified expression, and by the time his feet had reacted to his brain's command to stop, he was standing barely a foot from the place where she had been the previous second. She watched her retreat in a meandering frenzy, pressing both of her hands against her mouth, eyes wide open, horrified.

"Irma?"

"They touched me!" she shrieked through a crack between her fingers. "The flowers, they touched me!"

"They are only roses, Irma..."

"I'm allergic! They touched my mouth!"

At a loss for what to do, Argus attempted to get closer to the librarian to see what he could do to help, but all he managed was to upset her further.

"Get those away from me!"

"Yes, yes, of course," he stammered, dropping the delicate flowers and the basket to the floor and taking a few tentative steps towards Irma. "Let me see."

"No," she replied vehemently, pressing her hands more tightly against her mouth.

"I just want to help you, Irma."

She shook her head, moving even farther away from him. But Argus was very lucky to posses a brain that worked brilliantly in extreme situations, and missing dinner with Irma and possibly also a night of wild sex definitely fell under the category of extreme. Inspiration came in the form of a speedy solution that would soon have them both naked in his rooms-- or at least clothed but dinning together.

"Let me take you to the infirmary," he offered, forcing his upper lip from curling in satisfaction at his own cleverness.

"It's useless, Argus," was the unexpected answer. "It's not the first time this happens, and Poppy always says the same thing, that all that can be done is to wait."

Mentally petting his wounded pride, Argus asked, "Wait?"

"For..._it_ to go away."

"Let me see," he all but demanded, determined to get the whole allergy business over with as soon as possible.

"No." More steps backwards, more pressing of hands against mouth.

"Let me see," he repeated. His hands rose and tugged at her wrists, fingers settling comfortably between her bones as if that were exactly where they belonged.

The struggle lasted for only a few seconds, and eventually her hands fell away to reveal one of the most horrible things Argus had seen in all his years as a caretaker at a magical school full of teenagers – a huge, angry red boil was oozing a purple substance from the right corner of Irma's lips.

She turned to face away from him, hands going back to her face. "It will go away in a couple of months."

"Months?"

"But the, um, secretion stops after an hour or so."

Well. Well. An oozing boil wasn't exactly a big turn-on for him, but it didn't thwart his plans for the evening, either. And the oozing would stop in an hour, anyway. Hopefully.

"It's all right, Irma. We can still have dinner together, right?"

She turned back around, hands by her sides now, and there it was, the wide, blinded-by-love smile he had been hoping to see. "Oh, Argus!"

"I was thinking we could go for a picnic outside, if you want," he suggested, pleased that things were back in the course he had charted. "Somewhere outside in the grounds. I've brought everything." He pointed at the basket.

"But it's dark already."

_All the better_, he thought. But instead he said, "I've brought a lantern, too."

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" she asked adoringly.

_Of course_ Argus had thought of everything. Flowers to soften her into agreeing to dine with him (true, it hadn't turned out exactly as he had planned it, but at least she had appreciated the gesture), food that was said to rouse women's desires, a romantic walk under the moonlight, careful hints and promises for more that were subtle enough that she wouldn't scream in horror and run away, a strategically placed hand, chains and toys ready in his room... "Yes, I have," he replied, allowing his upper lip to curl up.

"Give me a moment to get everything in order and lock the library, and I'll be all yours."

All his... Argus definitely liked the sound of that. Maybe he wouldn't need as many careful hints and promises for more as he had though.

- - -

Argus sneaked an arm around Irma's drenched shoulders, surreptitiously trying to touch as much clothed flesh as he could. The magical umbrella she had conjured up protected them both from the icy water pouring down on them, but it didn't shield them from the piercing wind.

"Nasty weather," she commented, seemingly not bothered by his touch.

Ah, his cue! Argus knew he'd recognise it when it presented itself. "Nasty, yes. We'll get the flu if we stay here." A pause for effect, and then... "Let's go to my rooms and dry ourselves."

Irma turned around in his arm to face him, eyes nearly shining in the darkness. Her face was closer to his now, lips ready to be ravished, and it would have been perfect if it weren't for a certain red boil staring back at him from the corner of her mouth, defying him to taste it.

Oh, well. At least the oozing had stopped. And when he finally kissed her, not passionately as he had in his fantasies but hesitantly, tongue and taste buds safe inside his mouth, it wasn't so bad.

By the time they were naked in his rooms, he had already discovered that the taste of the boil was just as much of a turn-on as the chains around Irma's wrists and ankles.

* * *

The End


End file.
